Right now, I am simultaneously busy and boring. My to-do lists are never quite finished. The next two weeks are already a blur: I'll work, I'll go to Portland, I'll go back to work, I'll go to Wyoming, I'll go back to work again, with only the briefest of pauses.

I have been here a year; I feel at loose ends. I'm slowly shedding things I've been carting around far too long; I will be damned if I will pack and unpack them all again the next time I move. Because no matter how good a facade I put up in posters and pictures and clothes hung tidy in closets, I'm still temporary here. I came looking for an anchor; I haven't found it yet. I don't know where to look.

I was warm today for the first time in months. Things are blooming; the smell of sun is floating in my windows. There are fresh strawberries for my lunch and dinner and dessert. I keep finding spiders lurking in my house, and then I have to take them out, and I wish they would just stay there.

I am on a book binge. Because of Kyle I have become addicted to Kottke, and you should, too. My new guilty pleasure is one of the infinite variations of Law and Order, which I had successfully evaded for years, but at least I have a 68% chance that it will be on some channel, somewhere, anytime I should wish to watch it.

Last night I went to bed late and woke up early. I think today will be the same.

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